


Do I Wanna Know?

by thekingofcarrotflowers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bull's POV, Complete, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, I'm bad at tags I am sorry, Love Confessions, M/M, tried to make Bull the more needy one but idk if i succeeded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 20:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3424172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofcarrotflowers/pseuds/thekingofcarrotflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulfilling a DA Kink Meme Prompt: "Dorian almost falls in a battle and for several days it's not sure he will make it. Bull is left with a huge hole in his heart that threatens to swallow him whole EVEN THOUGH IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE NO STRINGS ATTACHED, ALL THE FUN NONE OF THE RESPOSIBILITY SEX WTF HAPPENED. Cue dawning realization of feelings, declaration of love after Dorian comes to even though Bull is sure Dorian doesn't feel the same way, and unexpected reciprocity on Dorian's part. Basically, angst with a happy ending, thank you very much!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sad to See You Go

Bull wakes up at the crack of dawn, Dorian’s limbs still tangled with his own. Dorian was set to leave in a few hours with the Inquisitor, off to deal with red lyrium smugglers in the Emerald Graves. They’d spent the night together, like they did most nights anymore, and the Bull feels a tad bit guilty about having to send Dorian off on a mission on so little sleep. He studies the mage next to him in bed, his locks tangled and knotted from sex, his mustache lacking any style, his cheek smeared with drool from sleeping. It’s an image he’s trying to memorize, for when Dorian is miles away.

  
Gently, he smiles down at Dorian, though a pang of worry grips his heart at having to let the man go off on yet another dangerous excursion. He was away with the Inquisitor more often than not, Dorian being her ideal choice for mage - though she tried her best not to let her favorites be too obvious. The Necromancer’s skill, ruthlessness, and devotion to the Inquisition made him an unstoppable opponent, being the reason that they won a battle on many occasions. Bull was often chosen for the journey as well, which usually eased his concerns about Dorian’s safety. The man can handle himself, can and has kicked Bull’s ass during training on more than one occasion, but there’s a reassurance there with traveling along side him. This time, Cassandra claimed one spot, having some unfinished business with a man sighted in the Graves, and Varric was tagging along as the lyrium expert.

  
Everyone had received their fair share of battle wounds since the Inquisition started, and it was expected they return banged up and exhausted. It was stressful, knowing it was inevitable that Dorian was going to be hurt, worrying that one of these times it was going to be something worse than a shallow knife wound or broken nose, fearing that eventually, Dorian wasn’t going to return at all. They escaped death again and again, and it was impossible to think they could keep up the trend forever. His grip tightened on Dorian for a moment, not wanting to have to let go.

  
Finally, he sighed, knowing he’d better wake the mage or Dorian would sleep the day away, “Dorian.”

  
Dorian’s brows knit slightly, but he didn’t stir otherwise.

  
“Dorian,” he insisted, pulling Dorian up to place a kiss on his forehead, “Wake up.”

  
“Go away, Bull,” Dorian whined, trying to roll away. Bull laughed, placing more kisses on his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. Dorian squirmed slightly, but smiled.

  
“The Inquisitor is going to be waiting at the gates for you. Again,” Bull murmured. The last journey they took together, Dorian had showed up nearly an hour late, having fallen asleep in the library.

  
“Not entirely my fault that some savage couldn’t keep their hands off me last night,” Dorian mumbled, eyes still closed, as he fought against a smirk.

  
Bull rumbled in agreement, finally placing a kiss on Dorian’s lips. After a moment, Dorian sleepily pressed back, hand trailing up Bull’s chiseled stomach and chest to cup his cheek.

  
“Just a few more minutes,” Dorian muttered as their kiss broke, Bull knowing that if it were any longer, any more intense, he was going to get lost in it. The other man brushed his nose against the Bull’s chest.

  
“I let you sleep as late as possible,” Bull chuckled, shaking Dorian gently, “I know you need your beauty rest and all.”

  
Dorian grunted, a noise Bull rarely heard from him in the daylight hours. In bed, in the dark hours, in Bull’s arms, he relaxed, let go of some of his poise and finesse, and just was.

  
“Dorian.”

  
When the mage refused to rise, instead burying his face into the sheets, Bull stuck his pinky finger into his mouth, wetting it thoroughly. Then, he wiggled it into Dorian’s ear, making the man yelp and sit up.

  
“Savage!” he barked at him, wiping furiously at his ear.

  
“It worked,” Bull smirked. Dorian dramatically rolled his eyes, before giving Bull a soft smile.

  
The qunari watched Dorian stand up and stretch, arms reaching up towards the hole in the rafters. Flexing, his toned muscles moved under dark, perfect skin. He rubbed his eyes for a moment, yawning, before heading to the water basin in the corner of the room. Dipping glowing fingers into the water, he heated it quickly, using a nearby towel to wash sleep from his face and clean up any remaining signs of their night together. In the small mirror he placed in the Bull’s room, he quickly fixed his hair and mustache, Bull watching the entire time. Getting ready had become an art for Dorian, one that he could do quickly and efficiently. Skilled fingers worked his dark hair into its style, then quickly curled the ends of his mustache. Kohl was applied with precision, in quick and purposeful strokes. All the buckles and straps of his outfit were done up without hesitation, nimble fingers moving from buckle to snap to buckle.

  
With a slight swagger, Dorian drew near the Bull again. He was still sprawled across the bed, steel eye trained on Dorian.

  
“Care for a goodbye kiss?”

  
“Always,” Bull growled, reaching up and pulling Dorian down by the shoulders. Their mouths crashed together, kissing deep and full, hands searching and groping in the dark. After drawn out minutes, Bull broke the kiss. He didn’t want it to have to end, didn’t want to have to let him leave. But, he knew what they were all signed up for. It was a grim reality that any of them could face certain death while in the Inquisition’s ranks, that the people they became friends and lovers with were in the same position.  
“If you don’t get going, I’m going to have to drag you back into this bed,” Bull muttered, fingertips caressing Dorian’s jawline.

  
“I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that,” quipped Dorian, sly smile playing on his kiss-swollen lips. He patted Bull’s cheek before turning away, scooping up the pack he had ready, and hurrying out the door to the team waiting by the gates.

  
Bull rose, drawing to the window in time to see Dorian meet with the others. From Dorian’s flurry of dramatic gestures, he’s sure the rest of the party called Dorian out about why he was late, and Dorian was stumbling over other excuses. Then, the team turned away from Skyhold, disappearing from view as they left the gates, leaving Bull with a hole in his heart.


	2. Too Busy Being Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without Dorian around, Skyhold becomes lonely and empty for Bull. He frets, wonders about their relationship, and seeks out things that are very Dorian to find comfort in while the mage is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is (mostly) finished, and I'll upload that when I get the fourth chapter done! Hopefully, it won't take long, though I have another fic I'm hoping to update as well...!

The trip is scheduled to take two to three weeks, as long as the smugglers aren’t too hard to squash and the giants are avoidable. The idea of Dorian fighting giants without the Bull’s hulk there to protect him makes the qunari feel a little sick, remembering how difficult the fight in the Forbidden Oasis had been. Bull knew that Dorian could take care of himself, having seen he mage blow apart enemies with a smirk and triumphant laugh, knowing Dorian wasn’t above using his staff as a weapon in close-combat. Still, it was reassuring to be with him during those battles, to make sure the ‘Vint didn’t get to cocky and carried away. Cassandra and Varric would be wrapped up in whatever thing they had for each other, and the Inquisitor would be unwaveringly dedicated to the task at hand.

  
Bull finds himself already growing restless at the end of the first week. There’s brief correspondence from the party through Lelianna, a bird flow in to indicate that half of the smuggling bands had been taken out, but little word on how they’re fairing. Worries and questions rise up, whether Dorian is sleeping or not, whether he’s been hurt on the mission yet, whether he and Varric made anymore bets. Anxiety only increases as the days tick on.

  
The nights of drinking in the tavern aren’t the same without Dorian. The Chargers are a barrel of fun, sure to raise a ruckus and leave Bull pleasantly drunk by the end of the night. Still, the seat next to him feels empty without Dorian in it, the tavern feels a little quieter without his dry humor and snarky remarks about their stink or lack of taste. There’s no pampered ‘Vint to retreat back to their quarters with, to kiss and touch, to make love to.

  
The nights are even lonelier. He’d grown accustom to waking up with Dorian in his bed. It’d been the routine for months now, broken up by journeys with the Inquisitor and the few nights Dorian spent lost in tomes in the library. Otherwise, Bull would wake up with Dorian pressed against him, the man beautiful and his in those early hours. The mage had learned how to handle his nightmares, after a few accidental injuries during the worst of them, and was patient and kind when the Bull started from troubled sleep. He’d hold Bull, kiss away the pain that lingered in his brow, murmur that Bull was here with him, not wherever still plagued him in his dreams. It was strange, how easily the man could chase away the demons that plagued Bull. Now, when Bull jerked awake from a nightmare of burning buildings, of the pain and loss of Seheron, of the fear of losing control of himself, the room was dark and empty.

  
After one especially gruesome dream, of possession and the horrible things that would result, he finds himself wandering into the library. There’s no candles lit in the alcove, of course, but it is untouched. The spot is undeniably Dorian’s, and no one dares touch his things. Books the man is researching are organized around the chair in a system that only makes sense to him. An unfortunate mage had re-shelved his books while he was away once, and got a very cross talking to. Half-burned candles that smell of lavender and sandalwood are placed carefully on the sill, on a shelf, on a stack of books. The lute that Dorian claims to play well is nestled in the corner, a fine layer of dust on it. With a forlorn sigh, Bull settles into the armchair - Dorian’s armchair. It still smelled vaguely of him, of the spicy colognes and soaps he used, of spilled wine and coffee, of warm smoke. Bull breathed it in, finding some small comfort there, and spent the remainder of the dark night with the assurance that something of Dorian still lingered in Skyhold.  
Stupid, he began to scold himself. This was just sex between he and Dorian, a fun fling that Dorian didn’t want to delve into anything else, nothing more complicated. It was pathetic that he had to seek out these littles things that were so Dorian to reassure himself. The other man had made it clear that this was a matter of convenience, not something that he saw realistically lasting long term. Sometimes, that was hard to accept when Dorian kissed him so gently, ran soft, caring fingers over his battle scars, murmured such sweet, hopeful things in the dead of night.

  
Whatever feeling was building in his chest, making his heart clench and his stomach flutter when he thought of Dorian’s golden eyes, his youthful laugh, his pearly smile, was strange and unfamiliar to Bull. It made him think of the excited nervousness before a particularly important battle, making his body tingle and vibrate. Try as he might to ignore it, it was persistent. Even when he was training, Krem crashing into his shield, Skinner coming in low to prod a practice sword into his weak spot, his mind somehow wandered to the mage. Everything made him think of Dorian. Memories of Dorian watching them train, standing far off against the stone wall, arms crossed and head slightly cocked, filled his mind. Drinking until he couldn’t think straight - couldn’t see straight - didn’t help either, the lonely pang in his chest growing stronger. Normally, Dorian would be there to tease him, to make fun of the big bad qunari who couldn’t hold his alcohol. After one of these nights, he found himself hungover in the tavern.

  
“Lost, longing, looming. Being away from him makes everything hurt more. Missing the dark, smooth skin under mine. Missing the golden eyes, glistening and glowing, studying me like he studies his books. Missing the sweet, soft smiles he gives me in the morning, the ones he only gives when he thinks no one else will see,” Cole’s voice cuts through Bull’s thoughts. It’s afternoon, and Bull is mostly alone in the tavern. The Chargers have been doing missions with Cullen, scouring for supplies, assisting with tying up lose ends, “Please, bring him back to me.”

  
Bull let out a deep sigh, glancing towards the spirit that appeared beside him. He wonders how long he’s been there, if Bull had overlooked him until he spoke, “Nice to see you, too, Cole.”

  
“You are sad, the Iron Bull,” Cole’s eyes are wide and watery, unsettlingly. It’s easy to forgot a demon is lurking under that boy’s kind, hurt face. Easy until he starts prying into the minds of those around him.

  
The Bull grunts, unsure how to respond. He’s tired of Cole trying to fix things when there isn’t a way to just fix everything. The only thing to make it better right now would be for Dorian to be here.

  
Wandering, wearied, wanting to be in strong, silver arms…” Cole continues. It’s a poor imitation of Dorian, Cole completely failing at the accent and inflection, but Bull knows its supposed to be the mage none-the-less, “He’s thinking of you, too.”

  
“Kid, how do you…” Bull trails off, shaking his head once. He doesn’t want to know how Cole’s mind works, now that he thinks about it.

  
“His hurt touches your hurt, the Iron Bull. You both long for each other, worry for each other,” Cole explains simply.

  
“Right. Like you did before with my Tama…” grumbles Bull, remembering something similar between he and Cole from months ago, after the dreadnaught had sunk. He rubs his face. This helps, somehow, even if it makes the hurt different. The idea that Dorian’s thinking about him, across Thedas, knee-deep in Red Templars and nautre. Bull’s unsure if Dorian’s preoccupied with him in quite the same way Bull’s thinking of the mage, or if Dorian is just ready for another shag to relieve the stress and tension of traveling, of fighting, of suffering through bad company and wilderness, “Thanks, Cole.”

  
“Asit tal-eb, the Iron Bull,” Cole places an icy hand on Bull’s shoulder before he’s gone again, disappearing without a single footfall or rustling of cloth.


	3. Crawling Back to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull anxiously awaits Dorian's arrival back at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% happy with this chapter! I would be happy for some feedback (:

The Herald and their party are scheduled to arrive back at Skyhold this afternoon, which means the tavern is buzzing with activity. It’s always like this when the Inquisition’s heroes were returning. A tankard of ale is at the ready for the group after a long journey, the bard playing lively music to keep up spirits, soldiers waiting around anxiously to find out how their bets with Varric faired, everyone waiting to hear the tales of the adventure. There are sure to be some good ones, especially with Varric and Dorian away this time. Fondly, Iron Bull imagines how the night would play out. Varric would stay up all night, winding their trip into tall tales, where the truth blurred into poetic license. Dorian would be bragging in his pompous way to the Chargers, usually sounding surprisingly fond of his allies’ successes and only touching on his own. Cassandra might stop in, post-adventure eves bringing the highest frequency of sightings of the Seeker, and drink an ale with Cullen. The Commander always acted irritated at being dragged to the bar but secretly enjoying the time away from his desk.

Sunset was beginning to settle across the fortress, casting it in warm oranges and pinks. For a moment, Bull thinks of meeting Dorian at the gates, but decides the mage would rather find Bull when he was ready. Instead, he keeps his eye trained on the door, waiting for the grand entrance. Sometimes, it wouldn’t be until past midnight, sporting a fresh pair of robes and smelling like citrus and spices. Bull wasn’t always sure why, when the robes would just end up crumpled on the floor. While Dorian was away, Bull managed to get his hands on one of Vivienne’s bottles of fine wine, thinking the man might find some pleasure in the gift. The thought of bringing a smile to Dorian’s face, of lighting up his golden eyes made Bull smile to himself. Krem noticed, shook his head and punched the chief hard in the forearm.

“Get a grip on yourself. The hothouse orchid hasn’t even set foot past the gates yet,” Krem teased, smirking as Bull rubbed at the spot his knuckles had dug into Bull’s flesh. 

Soft oranges and pinks fade into dusky purples, deep navy, and vivid orange as sunset turns into twilight, the time ticking past. Bull’s gone through seven ales already, feeling a little lightheaded but not near drunk yet. He seems to be the only one worried about the passing of time, now hours past the crew’s estimated arrival time. It shouldn’t be worrying Bull as much as it is. It’s easy to get tripped up on the steep climb up the mountain, or for one of the Inquisitor’s shortcuts to go array and add a half day to the journey. Instead of letting himself think about it too much, he calls for another round.

At first, the commotion outside is distant, barely audible over the din inside the tavern. For a moment, Bull’s not sure if he’s hearing anything worthwhile, or if it’s just some rowdy soldiers in the courtyard. A feeling in the pit of his stomach makes the curiosity grow into worry, hearing someone shout in the distance. Slowly, he rises and begins to cross the bar to look out, people creating a path for the large man to move into the doorway. The Chargers are the first to fall silent, watching Bull’s stiff movement, hair on the back of the neck standing up in anticipation of something bad. The hush falls suddenly, jarringly, across the tavern and Bull looks outside just in time to see Cullen rushing towards the infirmary, an unsettlingly still and bloody Dorian in his arms.

Bull freezes for a moment, enough time to see Cullen dart into the building, the rest of the party being hurried and helped in that direction as well. There’s more time to take in the other’s injuries, blood glistening in the moonlight, caked heavily on the side of Cassandra’s head, splattered across the Inquisitor’s armor, thick on the arm Varric was cradling against his chest. They all sported an array of injuries, most looking fresh and some severe. The Bull’s distinct silhouette is framed against the light spilling from the tavern, stretching out across the grounds. The Inquisitor notices, starts slightly and looks up into the Bull’s crumpled face, but it’s Varric who heads in the Qunari’s direction. The others are herded towards the infirmary, one soldier trailing after Varric. On closer inspection, Bull can tell that Varric’s arm is in bad shape, the angle extreme and blood clotted around an open wound. 

“He’s still alive,” Varric confirms, though it sounds tense and unsure, “Sparkler saved Cassandra’s life, was casting a spell to pick her back up, when one of those … Shadows crept up on him. I saw it happen, couldn’t stop it,…” His voice goes hoarse and cuts off. By this point, people are pushing past the Bull and clamoring out of the tavern, trying to catch sight of the returning party. Bull wants to yell, to tell them this isn’t some show for them to come gawk at, to make them understand that people’s  lives are on the line here. Instead, he squeezes his hands into fists, grits his teeth, and stays silent. He wants to run to Dorian’s side, make sure he’s there if - But he knows that it’s the healer’s place now, they need their time and their room to work, before he goes barging in, demanding to see the mage. 

“How bad?” Bull finally asks, his own voice sounding distant and far away. At some point, Krem drew up beside him, and the man’s looking at Bull with concern clear on his features.

“Tiny…” Varric mutters, unsure how to answer for a moment. 

“I need to know.” 

Varric looks away, “Ran through. He was the one to blow the thing apart as he fell. We did what we could, patched him up, slowed the bleeding. We called ahead, and Curly brought a troop… The Commander carried him up the mountain.”

Bull flinches, only barely, the twitch of his lips being the only indicator of the chaos of emotions beneath his cool exterior. Images of a Shadow, deformed and deadly, drawing up behind Dorian as he saved someone else’s life, a shard of red lyrium cutting through his body, red quickly staining the snow, fills his mind. Guiltily, he’s relieved he wasn’t there to have to see it, to hear Dorian’s cries of pain or see his face contorted in pain, though he’s sure the thought of it will plague his dreams for days to come. Quickly, he scolds himself. He should have been there, should have been the one called upon to carry him up the mountainside, should have been there in the first place to keep Dorian safe. Anger surges through him, cursing Josephine and Lelianna for not dragging him out of the tavern to rush to the mage’s aid, for not cutting his celebrations short when there was nothing worth celebrating. Then, there’s a building emptiness in his chest, like his heart has been torn from its place. Everything seems distant, dull, unimportant, except for the steady throbbing ache in his chest, a bloody hole where his heart used to be.

“Ser Varric,” a soldier insists, “The healers-”

Varric gives Bull one last look, somewhere between apologetic and pitying, before patting him on the arm. He turns away, the soldier guiding him to the infirmary.

“Dorian’s strong, Chief…” Krem manages to sound sure of himself, despite the nausea in his own stomach.

“Yeah…” is all Bull can bring himself to say as he watches soldiers dart to and fro across the courtyard, Cullen barking orders in the distance, people dashing past windows in the infirmary. 

 


	4. How Many Secrets Can You Keep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ache in his chest was unfamiliar, something he didn’t fully recognize. He’d felt something like it when any of his men were hurt in battle, his heart constricting painfully in those moments of worry and adrenaline. This was somehow different. He felt this to his core, a steady ache that made his head swim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically more of Bull being a broody butt about Dorian being hurt.

Bull lingered outside the tavern as the frenzy slowly died down, growing numb as he watched the candles flicker out one by one. By the time Bull blinked back to reality, there’s only one flickering candle left on in the infirmary. Krem stood by him in silence, his presence a small comfort as the gnawing pain in his chest rippled through his body. He was torn between rushing to Dorian’s side to keep a vigil over the man and retreating to the tavern, drinking everything into a distant haze.

The ache in his chest was unfamiliar, something he didn’t fully recognize. He’d felt something like it when any of his men were hurt in battle, his heart constricting painfully in those moments of worry and adrenaline. _This_ was somehow different. He felt this to his core, a steady ache that made his head swim. A flurry of worries whirled around his head - fears that he wouldn’t see Dorian’s bright, glittering eyes again — never suffer through his haughty glowers, or revel in his sultry gazes. He was scared he wouldn’t hear his bark of laughter or feel the sting of his insults again. And, fuck, it _hurt_ , shaking him to his very core and making him feel as lost and scared as he had felt alone in the dark as a child, murmuring mantras his Tama taught him to keep the fears at bay.

At some point, a nervous mage approached. He had spoke to them, and Bull nodded as if he understood. But, the words fell over him, not quite catching as his mind was full of Dorian, Dorian bleeding in the snow, Dorian’s eyes dull and distant. The boy said something about Dorian, he knew that much, but his swimming brain was never able to make much sense out of it.

“What did he say?” Bull asked Krem long after the apprentice had retreated back to the infirmary when Bull made no move to follow or to answer. A smothering silence had fallen over the courtyard, a stark contrast to the initial chaos of the Inquisitor’s return.

“That you can see Dorian,” his lieutenant explained carefully, having some practice as breaking bad news to grieving families and friends during his days as a soldier and as a mercenary, “That Dorian got hurt pretty bad and they still aren’t sure-”

“Katoh,” Bull breathes, forgetting himself for a moment and using the word that makes everything grind to a halt. Krem fell silent, somehow understanding, looking up at Bull with worry written all over his face. The larger man winced then, tried to compose himself, “I don’t want to think about it. A world without Dorian…”

His throat bobbed threateningly. He couldn’t believe he’s saying these things out loud, but the stillness of the night and the apologetic look from Krem made him suddenly feel like revealing secrets.

“Chief…” Krem said slowly, unsure how to respond, “You should go to him.”

Bull grunted a reply, still staring towards the healer’s.

“Come on,” Krem insisted, tugging at Bull’s elbow. He began to gently guide the other man forwards, towards the infirmary and the flickering light in the window. It seemed so easy to snuff out now, a small flame alone in the night, every wind and breath causing it to splutter and dip. A shudder passed through Bull as his thoughts began to drift.

Would this be what Dorian wanted? The Bull sitting by his bedside, clinging to his hand as he struggled to survive? Or, would Dorian rather that he kept his distance, for him to remember that what they had was about sweaty nights and burning lust, not diligent vigils and flowery confessions. There’s was a matter of passion and desire, maybe of convenience, but not anything as complicated as _love_. Again, Bull quaked slightly, thinking of Dorian rebuffing and laughing haughtily at him when he woke, poking fun for the warrior keeping guard at his bedside. A different kind of shiver passed through him at the thought of _not_ being there, of Dorian breathing a last shaking breath without someone there to hold his hand, to beg him not to go, to remind him they still needed him _here_ , and that felt worse.

The door creaked open in front of him, pulling him back from his thoughts. Krem stepped through, looking back at Bull expectantly. Freezing in the doorway, Bull swallowed, throat feeling dry. He knew there was no turning back from seeing Dorian like this, hurt and vulnerable and not the man he was used to, and he second-guessed himself again. It was only when one of the healers shot him a look in reply to a cool breeze that rushed into the infirmary that he made the decision to follow Krem inside. The same healer moved towards him, carrying that dim, flickering candle, and looked a little unsure about what they’re going to say next.

“You’re here to see Dorian.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and Bull nodded his agreement. He worries opening his mouth will allow for more fears and secrets to spill forth, with the way his head was spinning relentlessly and his hands trembled despite himself. Distantly, he realized he was starting to lose control of himself, but in a different way than he had ever imagined, “He’s stable, now. If he makes it through the first night, he should have good odds of making it through this.”

Bull was grateful for the honesty, no honey-coating or false hope, and nodded again. Krem watched intently, never having seen the Chief act quite like this before. Seeing the wetness of Bull’s eye, he realized that the Bull’s in deep, deeper than he had thought possible. He’d seen the way Bull look at Dorian, so adoringly and gently, something similar to the looks Bull gave the Chargers after a good fight, but something more intense than that. It was all quick glances when Dorian was looking away, lingering stares when Dorian was laughing across the tavern or casually crossing the courtyard, unaware of Bull’s watchful gaze. It was the smile that always seemed to touch the corner of the warrior’s lips when he saw Dorian, soft and kind and full of fondness. With a start, the answer is apparent — the Bull was in _love_ , head-over-fucking-heels, and now was probably not the best time for Bull to be coming to terms with that.

The healer guided the pair towards the back, past rows of drawn curtains. Bull speculated that Varric and Cassandra, maybe even the Inquisitor, are somewhere behind those curtains, based on the state they were all in. It seemed unimportant in comparison to knowing that Dorian is behind one of these curtains, ready at any moment for the healer to pull the sheet back and reveal a too-still, too-pale Dorian. It sent another shudder rippling through him. Instead, the healer stopped before one of the curtains, hand lingering for a moment, giving Bull time to retreat, to change his mind about seeing the other man. Bull was resigned, knowing he had to be there, just in case something happened, just in case Dorian woke up alone and scared.

When the curtain is finally drawn back, Dorian was tucked securely into one of the cots, his usually rich skin looking awfully pale. White bandages covered his chest, a few spots of vivid red on them. There was an almost peaceful look on his face, mouth slightly open, reminding Bull of the times he woke in the night to find the man fast asleep, pressed against his side. His hair and mustache were a mess, sticking up at angles he would never allow during his waking hours. For a long moment, Bull just stood there, his foundations full of spider-web cracks as he stared at the other man, mind suddenly blank, even as the awful ache in his heart threatened to consume him.

“You can sit with him,” the healer finally offered, after the silence has stretched on for minutes. Carefully, he inched closer to Dorian’s prone form. He reached out, glancing back at the healer for a moment for approval, and lightly brushed hair from Dorian’s forehead. His fingertips barely touched him, as if any amount of pressure would shatter the mage. With a long, unsteady sigh, he eased himself into the sturdy wooden chair set next to the bed, eye never leaving Dorian’s face. _Shit_ , this was going to be a long night…

 


	5. That Fear That You Can't Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cassandra stops by to see how Bull and Dorian are faring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not to happen with this chapter, but I figured I sat on it long enough and fiddled with it enough to post it and get the story moving forward again. I wanted to include a bit of Cassandra and her guilt about the situation. 
> 
> Here's to hoping the next chapter is easier and flows better!

Hours seemed to crawl by, Bull focusing on the rise and fall of Dorian’s chest to have some sort of reassurance that the mage was still there. The man barely shifted in his sleep, unlike all the times they’ve shared a bed. Normally, Dorian is moving around all night in his sleep, elbowing the Bull in the ribs, sprawling an arm across his face, and stirring him from his light sleep. Now, it’s only the occasional twitch of his hand or hitch in his breathing, both of which set Bull on edge, studying Dorian closely for any signs of pain or distress. The healers peer in regularly, sometimes running their hands over Dorian and murmuring their spells. Bull remains in his chair, unmoving and vigilant. Krem had left hours ago, but he was sure he’d see the man again before long, his lieutenant expressing his concern for Bull before returning to his quarters. Everything is still and quiet and stifling in the early hours, the still morning hours a weight pressing down on Bull’s chest that makes him want to yell, to run, but he settles on bowing his head and waiting, his heart thundering relentlessly in his ears.

  
Idly, Bull realizes he’s losing control of himself in a way that he never expected. It isn’t bloodlust and madness, but is love and worry taking over his body, betraying himself in a way it hadn’t since he was a child afraid in the night. Now, his carefully controlled foundations are cracking and fraying, his body obviously trembling, his jaw tense and aching from clenching it for hours. His mind is all Dorian, his bronze skin under the sunlight, his amber eyes glowing in candlelight, his gentle fingers on his own calloused ones, and nothing he could do would stop those images from filling his mind. They clash with seeing the mage looking so pale and weak before him, with imaging him bloody and writing in the snow. As tears prick threateningly at his eye, he scrubs his face raw with his palms until he’s sure they won’t begin to flow. When the sound of footsteps echo outside the curtain, he’s surprised he didn’t notice them sooner. It’s growing light beyond the walls of the infirmary, and Bull’s somehow missed that, too.

  
“The Iron Bull?” Cassandra’s voice sounds hesitant, uncertain, uncharacteristically timid. It makes Bull’s heart clench, realizing he’s not the only one suffering through all of this. He wouldn’t be the only one losing a friend, a comrade, if anything were to happen. His mind wanders back to the brief account Varric had given him, and he remembers that Cassandra was still alive because Dorian risked his own safety.

  
“Yeah,” Bull finally breathes out, voice catching slightly even on that small word.

  
“May I…?”

  
“C’mon in.”

  
Slowly, the curtain is pulled back to reveal Cassandra standing there, looking pale and tired. There’s a bandage on her head and she’s without her armor, instead in a light tunic and pants. Her brow furrows for a moment at seeing Dorian again, mind flashing back to watching Dorian ran through has his revival magic washed over her, to seeing his eyes roll back in his head when he finally loss consciousness after pain-filled hours of struggling to stay awake. The last time she’d seen him, he was still covered in blood, and she felt partially responsible for him being in that state. If she hadn’t lost her footing that moments, if she had been protecting the others as a warrior should, if she had-  
“Cass,” Bull says it softly, seeing the emotions flickering through Cassandra’s wide eyes, and it grounds her again. There’s kindness and concern and hurt in his tone, but she knows there’s no blame there. It should ease some of her worries — that the others see her as weak, that the others are disappointed in her, but the hurt is still too raw and real with Dorian sprawled out, pale and weak. A different kind of guilt stirs in her stomach now as she remembers doubting the Tevinter mage, of thinking he was untrustworthy and uncaring, and she glances away.

  
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Bull insists, standing slowly to move towards Cassandra. Her brow furrows as he moves closer, and she fights the urge to pull away as her massive hand lays gently on her shoulder. He shouldn’t be the one comforting her, with his lover clinging to life before them, with her mistakes causing him to be there. She caught bits of his conversation with Varric as she was hurried to the healers, and it was obvious just how hurt he had been from his tensed shoulders and blank face. It was obvious how much he cared for Dorian, and it made this all hurt deeper.

  
“I am sorry. If I had not-” Cassandra begins to speak, her voice thick with emotions.

  
“We knew what we were getting into, Cass. This isn’t your fault,” Bull squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. She glances up at his face, but the anguish still lingers in his eyes, making it difficult to believe his words. Instead, guilt flares stronger, bile rising in the back of his throat at the idea of Dorian being taken away from the Bull, of having caused the mistake that could make that happen.

  
“Have the healers given any word?” Cassandra questions instead, knowing Bull’s reassurance is a lost cause until Dorian is awake and well. She’ll never forgive herself for this if the outcome is any different.

  
Bull lets out a slow sigh, glancing back at Dorian for a moment, “Said if he made it through the night, he’d have a good shot.”

  
Cassandra nods, pulling away from Bull’s grip. It’s not right for her to linger here, to need to be comforted by the Bull when he’s hurting, too.

  
“I will pray for his recovery. I am truly sorry, the Iron Bull,” Cassandra repeats, squeezing the hand she pulled from her shoulder before hurrying back through the curtain. The Bull stands there, staring after her for a long moment and wishing there was more he could do. He feels utterly helpless, hanging in some sort of darkness as he waits for Dorian to live or die. He runs his hands over his face again, turning back towards the bed, examining the ashen, still form before he moves closer again.

  
“Dorian,” he says softly, sitting back down and closing the mage’s small hand in his own. He rubs gentle circles into the back of his hand, still feeling as if he puts too much pressure on the man, he might shatter, “Dorian, people are worried about you. I’m worried about you, I need you… I-”

  
The words catch in Bull’s throat, tears threatening to spill over again. This time, he lets them begin to fall, a quite sob shaking his shoulders. He places a kiss on the back of Dorian’s hand, then presses it to his cheek. He needs Dorian to wake up, he needs to tell him how badly he _needs_ him, how much he _loves_ him.

  
“Please, wake up.”


	6. Have You No Idea That You're In Deep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull's fretting continues, and Dorian finally wakes up.

The passing of time feels endless, as Dorian lays in the bed before him. The wound has drawn together, healing magic regularly pushed into it, and now a raw pink scar is the only visible sign of the injury. Bull scrubs at his face, wiping away the exhaustion that has settled there. Nothing seems as important as keeping by his lover’s side. Plates of uneaten food went forgotten on the end table next to Dorian’s cot. It’d been days since he’d breathed in the crisp air beyond the walls of the infirmary. Endless, lonely nights crawled by without a moment’s rest. When he closes his eyes, all he can imagine is golden eyes dulled by death, bronze skin splattered in crimson, dark, full lips dripping with blood. It makes him feel hopeless, knowing there’s nothing he can do to help Dorian, or anyone else for that matter. Cassandra’s wide, hurt eyes flash through his mind as sleep pulls at him, and he shakes away the thought, focuses on his breathing and the shallow rise and fall of Dorian’s chest. Seeing Dorian pale and unmoving before him hurts, but the dark thoughts that plague him behind his eyelids are worse.

  
“Chief,” Krem says suddenly, pulling the curtain aside without waiting. He’s been the most frequent visitor, though Bull thinks just about everyone has stopped by. Sera had mumbled some encouragements through the curtain, avoiding having to see Dorian laid out in the cot, the thought of Dorian pale and weak making her skin crawl. Even Lelianna had pulled herself away from her perch, squeezing Bull’s arm reassuringly, letting more than her usual mask of indifference fall away and reveal sadness for less than a moment.

  
“Krem,” Bull answers, still focusing on Dorian’s breathing to keep himself grounded. He’s expecting another worried lecture from Krem, about being useless once when Dorian wakes if he keeps avoiding sleep and food and fresh air. Instead, Krem shuffles behind Bull to lay the plate of food on the end table, scooping up the uneaten food from earlier. His hand finds Bull’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.

  
“He’s gotta wake up,” Bull breathes out, voice barely above a whisper.

  
Krem firmly pats Bull’s shoulder, unsure what else to say. The healers say things look good, but the longer Dorian remains unconscious, the more on-edge Bull gets. He’s heard the healers mumbling worriedly about the mage when they think he can’t hear, but he’s trained to notice everything. The idea of Dorian laying in this perpetual limbo forever is almost worse than the thought of Dorian dying. He can’t stand to think of Dorian becoming an empty husk. It reminds him of when Dorian told Bull of the blood magic ritual, of rather being dead than being empty, and a shiver passes through Bull. Krem’s fingers squeeze tighter, biting into Bull’s thick flesh, and draws him back to the here and now.   
“Bull, just…” Krem runs a hand over his face, taking in a deep breath to steady himself. His eyes move to Dorian for a moment, a sharp worry gripping his heart, “I’ll be back again in a bit. Maybe you could try to get some rest?”

  
Bull only let out a grunt in reply. Unsure whether he should leave Bull alone yet again, Krem lingers outside the curtain for a long time, Bull distantly aware of his presence, before his footsteps lead out of the infirmary.   
  
When Dorian’s hand clenches and unfurls the first time, it pulls Bull back to his senses. The world around him has grown hazy and surreal after avoiding sleep for so long, and he’s lost in a daze when Dorian first twitches. His eyes snap to Dorian’s hand, breath catching as he waits for something else to happen. Enough times now, Dorian has twitched and shifted without stirring. After what seems like endless minutes, Dorian moves again. This elicits a groan from the mage, and as weak and rough as his voice sounds, it causes a wave of relief to wash over the Bull. Dorian’s eyes move behind closed eyelids before they open into slits.  
“Bull?” Dorian asks, voice cracking on the name.

  
The surge of emotions hits Bull in the chest hard, pushing his air out in a strangled gasp and a following sob. He reaches out for Dorian, clutching at a smaller  hand in both of his own. Unable to keep the tears from streaming from his good eye, he bows his head and presses it to the back of Dorian’s hand. Worry creases Dorian’s brow as he shifts, reaches with his other hand to touch Bull’s face. It causes a shard of pain to shoot through his chest, but he ignores it. It makes him remember what happened, the fight and the injury. The journey to Skyhold after being wounded seems long ago, a memory of a memory after his senses had been clouded by pain and blood and elfroot, and Dorian suspects Bull’s been at his side for some time.

  
“Bull?” Dorian asks again, concern settling in, never seeing Bull break down before. There’d been small glimpses of his mask cracking, but even as the dreadnaught sank, after the Qun sent their assassins and the message that Bull was truly Tal-Vashoth, there had been no tears, no great outpouring of emotion, only a waver of his voice or a threatening brightness to his eye.  Then, those hints of feeling were gone. But this-

  
He presses his palm to Bull’s cheek, “It’s alright.”

  
“I thought…” Bull swallows down his tears to form words, voice still shaking, forehead still pressed to Dorian’s hand, “I thought I lost you.”

  
“I’m alright. You still have me,” Dorian’s words were soft, his fingertips trailing against Bull’s cheek, “Bull, look at me.”

  
Weakly, Bull looks up. Dorian still is worryingly pale, dark rings under his eyes, but those eyes are bright and shining and so very _alive_. He reaches out for Dorian’s face, needing to touch and feel to know this is real, that this is Dorian under his fingertips and the mage really is alright. Bull places a kiss on Dorian’s lips, and Dorian kisses back until he makes a noise of discomfort against Bull’s mouth, his wound still smarting. Quickly, Bull pulls away, but can’t bring himself to move his hands from Dorian’s warm skin. The mage smiles at him, places one of his hands over Bull’s own, and squeezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think there will be one more chapter and this will be all wrapped up.  
> This chapter was fairly short, and the next one might be kinda long? I DUNNO! WHO KNOWS! I should plan out my fics better, ha.


	7. Until I Fall Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (probably) penultimate chapter, in which no real confessions are made, but Bull & Dorian begin to understand their feelings for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second-to-last chapter! It's been a fun ride. I'm hoping to finish the next chapter posthaste, but you know me and writing quickly...!

For the next day, Dorian fades in and out of consciousness, awareness still muddled by elfroot and pain. The healers fuss over him, checking in often, making sure there’s no lingering effects from the wound or the lyrium. When he’s awake, Dorian insists he feels fine, though the lingering pain that sometimes flickers across Dorian’s face is obvious to Bull. It’s clear he’s still weak and unsteady, the dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremor to his hands an easy giveaway. Bull still doesn’t sleep, but it’s easier this way, now that Dorian’s finally regained consciousness and in the clear. When Dorian insists he’s well enough to return to his quarters after a day awake under the watchful eye of healers and Bull, the healers grudgingly give in. They need to space for others, and Dorian’s constant complaining about being cooped up is wearing on them.

  
“Come to my quarters,” Bull murmurs, scratching at the usually close-shaved hair on the side of Dorian’s head. It’s grown slightly fluffy after being away and then being laid up for a stretch of time, “I’ll take care of you.”

  
Dorian snorts slightly, focusing on adjusting one of his buckles. It took him twice as long as normal to get dressed, and he refused Bull’s help. Bull watches him closely, waiting for more of a reply, and Dorian slowly looks up.

  
“You’re serious?” Dorian says, an edge of disbelief in his tone. Bull frowns slightly at that look, trying to read the surprise and the uncertainty in Dorian’s eyes. Things were supposed to be simple between them, something fun to pass the time, and here Bull was asking the mage to let him take care of him as he recovered. Worry takes hold of his chest, wondering if he’s overstepped his boundaries, wondering if Dorian’s going to try to push him away. Words Dorian said when he first woke rattle around his head — _You’ve still got me_ — and Bull wonders if it was in the heat of the moment that Dorian had said, if it had just been to console the sobbing warrior before him, and not because he meant something more, something deeper.  
Bull rumbles an agreement, still running his hands through Dorian’s hair.

  
“I suppose…” Dorian sighs, still looks uncertain, before he looks back down at the last buckle he’s trying to snap together. His fingers tremor slightly, the effort of getting dressed tiring him out already.

  
“I don’t know why you had to get dressed,” Bull huffs, worriedly eying Dorian, “You’ve got orders to stay in bed for a few more days. You’ll be out of those clothes in no time.”

  
“Appearances,” Dorian insists, then looks up at the larger man with a cheeky grin, “I’ve just been on my death bed and you’re already trying to get me out of my clothes.”

  
Bull winces, worried that Dorian still thinks the sex is all he wants, and Dorian falters. The joke hangs in the air as Bull frowns again, thinking of the long days wondering if Dorian was going to live or die, of how broken he had felt when saw Dorian limp in Cullen’s arms. Hurriedly, Dorian steps forward and brushes fingers down Bull’s arm. It’s accompanied by a fleeting smile, soft and sweet, before Dorian draws away again.

  
“I’m alright, truly,” Dorian nods, and Bull’s arm feels cold after the warmth that Dorian’s touch brought. He wants to pull the man into his arms, press kisses to his cheeks and lips and wherever he can reach, but he also doesn’t want to crowd the man. Instead, he grunts, unsure what to say, “Come, lets go to your quarters.”

  
Bull guides Dorian through Skyhold, hooking his arm around Dorian’s waist to keep the man upright. A few stray soldiers politely greet them, one of the kitchen staff stopping them for a moment to tell them how much they’ve missed having them sneak into the kitchen for late night snacks. Varric waves from across the courtyard, a smile brightening his face. The stairs are a struggle for Dorian, a few already winding him.

  
“Do what you must,” Dorian sighs as Bull watches him nervously. After waving his hand dismissively, Bull carefully scoops him up. Dorian breathes out another sigh, and Bull thinks this one sounds more content, more at ease than his normal dramatic huffs. Even after they reach the top of the stairs, Bull continues to carry Dorian across the battlements to his room.

  
“You’re lucky no one is about,” Dorian grumbles, crossing his arms in Bull’s grip. He shifts slightly, sinking farther back into Bull’s grip. Dorian’s trying to look cross, but something fond sparkles in his eyes, and Bull can’t help the grin that pulls at his face. Relief floods through him again, making him feel light, making him feel like he’s flying. Dorian’s here, in his arms. He squeezes Dorian a fraction tighter, still careful with the still-injured man in his arms, but enough that Dorian knows it’s a conscious gesture.

  
When they reach the door, Dorian reaches out from his spot in Bull’s arms and turns the knob. Bull nudges it the rest of the way open with his boot, leaving it open as he crosses towards the bed. Gently, he sets Dorian down among all the pillows Dorian insists they need for comfortable sleeping. He turns back to the door, shutting it carefully, and can feel Dorian watching him intently.

  
“Bull,” Dorian starts delicately when the Bull turns back around. He’s already adjusted himself amongst the pillows, propping himself up and resting against the headboard. It takes Bull’s breath away, having worried for so long that he’d never seen Dorian in his bed again, never see him smile again, never hear him laugh again. Bull blinks, realizing Dorian doesn’t look especially _happy_ to be there, as the man chews on his lip and he studies Dorian closely. Worry sparks, making Bull wonder if Dorian’s about to ask him why he was at his bedside when he woke, or how long he’d been there, or when this became more than just fucking.

  
“Comfortable?” Bull asks, heading back towards the mage.

  
“What? Yes, quite,” Dorian frowns, “You know I was about to ask you something.”

  
“Yeah,” Bull nods, stilling in the middle of the room. Dorian cocks his head slightly, gaze looking critical and distant. Bull swallows hard under the gaze.

  
“When was the last time you slept?” Dorian questioned, and Bull blinks at him again.

  
“What?” Bull answers dumbly.

  
“According to Krem, you’ve been at my side since I returned to Skyhold. That was, what, a week ago?” Dorian holds up his ringed fingers and counts of them for added affect, “At _least_ five days of you not sleeping.”

  
“I, uh, had to make sure you were alright,” Bull shrugs, moving closer to Dorian again.

  
“Hm,” Dorian frowns at him before he shifts over in the bed, patting the spot next to him, “The bed is rather cold, and you know how much I despise the cold.”

  
Bull lets out a soft chuckle, closing the space between himself and the bed. He stands before Dorian for a long moment, staring down into the man’s eyes as a soft smile creeps across Dorian’s face. It’s a smile few are lucky enough to see — he’s seen Dorian give that smile to Sera on more than one occasion, and Cole when he’s not being creepy, and Dagna when the dwarf when she’s chattering frantically about magical theory. He’s grateful Dorian’s deemed him worthy of such a beautiful thing, and Bull reaches out to caress his face.

  
“Dorian,” Bull chokes out, his throat catching on all the things he wants to say, he needs to say. Dorian lifts his hand, rubs his fingers against Bull’s calloused, gnarled ones.

  
“Lay down?” Dorian suggests sweetly, he turns his hand into Bull’s palm to kiss against it, “We can deal with all the messy emotions and what have you tomorrow, after I get a chance to share a bed with you again.”

  
Bull nods, wondering why he ever doubted Dorian’s feelings. The softness and fondness in his eyes are too obvious now, and Bull’s heart is thundering in his chest. He has to say these words, say everything that’s on his mind, but now is not the time. Now is the time to be wrapped up in Dorian, to be assured of the beating of his heart and the warmth of his breath and the gentleness of his words. Dorian gently tugs him down, Bull carefully maneuvering so they both fall into the bed together, fully clothed but tangled together.

  
“Amatus,” Dorian breathes against Bull’s shoulder as they both drift to sleep, Bull drifting off with a smile on his face.


	8. Now I've Thought it Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, it's over! It's not as polished as I wanted, but I knew if I didn't just post this now, it might sit on my computer forever and I would never get the closure and neither would all your fine folks who I dragged along with me on this wild ride. This has been one of my favorites to write, honestly, and I sort of wish I did it more properly, but eh. Live and learn and next time I won't start a new chaptered fic before having the first one done!
> 
> God, I'm so longwinded.

The sun’s casting long beams across his bed by the time Bull blinks awake. For a moment, he stares up  at the ceiling, assessing the time of day. It’s late for him, almost midday. Then, it dawns on him that the other half of the bed is empty. Cold and _empty_ and without Dorian. Panic flares to life in his chest, mind running back through the events of the last days. Dorian’s been healed, got the go-ahead to return to their quarters. Dorian had been there. For an awful moment, Bull worries it’d been a dream, his mind playing tricks on him. Seeing Dorian’s blood trailed across the courtyard, splattered across Cullen’s armor feels as if happened moments ago. The memory of the mage small and weak and entirely too fragile, laid out in the infirmary, makes his stomach do flips. Dorian could still be down in the infirmary, still unconscious and clinging to life, or worse —

  
“Hey,” Dorian’s voice says gently as Bull bolts upright, eye flickering around the room. Dorian’s crossing the room stiffly, and Bull sighs in relief as the other man’s hands make contact with his chest.

  
“Kadan, I though —” Bull murmurs, wrapping his fingers around Dorian’s hand to bring his knuckles to his lips, “It doesn’t matter. You’re here.”

  
“Yes, I am very much alive, Bull,” Dorian affirms, knowing Bull’s still bent out of shape about everything that’s happened. Even if Dorian’s not the ex-spy in the relationship, it’s easy for him to see Bull’s tells by this point. The way his eye was especially shifty, like he was expecting a sneak-attack at any moment. The way his fists furled and unfurled slowly, “I just got someone to fetch us brunch.”

  
“Good, good,” Bull murmurs against Dorian’s skin, warm and real under his lips. Dorian’s free hand rises to Bull’s cheek, cups it softly. Bull’s eye is wet with  moisture when he meets Dorian’s gaze, “When I saw Cullen carrying you to the infirmary—”

  
“We don’t have to talk about this right now, Bull,” Dorian says patiently, his hand dropping from Bull’s cheek. He goes to back away, and Bull gets a strange feeling in his chest. Dread, maybe. Maybe Dorian doesn’t want to hear messy confessions of love, but he needs to do this. Needs to say this in case anything happens again.

  
“No, I need to do this now,” Bull says more firmly, gently grabbing Dorian’s wrist to pull him closer again. He holds loosely, so Dorian can pull away if this is too much, “Dorian, when I saw you hurt and broken, it felt like someone punched me in the gut. Shit, it felt like someone tore my heart out.”

  
Dorian lets out a shaky breath, “Bull.”

  
“I knew then that a world without you wasn’t one I wanted to think about, wasn’t something I wanted to have to face,” Bull murmurs, and now there’s tears starting to trickle down Dorian’s face, “Then, I wasn’t sure how you felt about this. About us.”

  
“You big idiot,” Dorian whines, leaning forward to press their lips together. It’s slow and gentle, not the deep, passionate things that usually pass between them. It tastes of salt, and Bull’s not sure at this point if it’s from Dorian’s tears or his own. When Dorian ends the kiss, he nuzzles into Bull’s neck, murmuring against his skin, “I was so … so scared I wouldn’t see you again.”

  
Bull tilts his head, ever-careful of his horns, to press a kiss against Dorian’s neck, “Yeah. Dorian —”

  
There’s a knock on the door and Dorian’s quickly wiping his face. He hasn’t put on his makeup for the day, or it’d be smeared around his eyes already. Bull stands up and brushes past Dorian to reach the door, finding a scout waiting there with a tray of food.

  
“Ser Pavus requested breakfast,” he explains, seeing something mildly irritated in Bull’s expression.

  
“Right. Thanks, kid,” Bull fishes in his pocket for a moment, finding a coin to pass into the scout’s hand when he takes the tray.

  
“Wonderful timing, that,” Dorain huffs, sniffling as he wipes his nose sloppily on his sleeve, and Bull smiles fondly at him.

  
“So, Dorian,” Bull says, much more casually than the conversation had been going before. He sets the tray of food down as he moves across the room towards Dorian, the man looking up at him expectantly, “I love you.”

  
Dorian’s eyes go wide for a moment, his lips parting in surprise. Slightly bashfully, he glances away, but a smile is beginning to pull at his lips.

  
“And… I love you, Bull,” Dorian finally states, looking right into Bull’s eye when he says it. He looks sure of himself, his eyes bright with tears and adoration, his cheeks flushed. It’s more than Bull could have hoped for, finding this little sanctuary where it’s just him and Dorian, finding someone to _love_ when the Qun had trained him that this sort of love didn’t exist between two people, that it was all duty and purpose and not this deep ache in his chest, to his very bones that told him this was right and this was real. He laughs, warm and full, hurriedly setting the tray of food down so he can kiss Dorian properly again. The mage laughs and cries as he kisses him, and all is right in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farewell, Goodbye, and Amen.  
> Talk to me here: thekingofcarrotflower.tumblr.com/ <3

**Author's Note:**

> Nabbed the title(s) from the Artic Monkeys song, because I am rubbish at titles...  
> Always happy to read comments, hear suggestions, get prompts, whatever~! ;)  
> http://thekingofcarrotflower.tumblr.com/


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